RE:volt! Chapter 4: Rumors
Time passed, and the cold bite of winter came. One that was brutal and indiscriminate with its icey carcass, resulting in the deaths of dozens if not hundreds of slaves, a few of whom were wetnurses Ark had grown familiar with.
Food became scarce, blankets were limited, and the demand for slave services went on the decline as less clients showed up. So much so that Ark's mother was with him nearly every day instead of once every other week.
Ark didn't initially have much of an opinion on the woman, but from the worry on her face, her tender care, and the way she lit up when seeing him, it was obvious she cared for him.
Every night in the slave quarters that seemed to dwindle in inhabitants, a rickety building made of soil, rotting logs and hay, he and his mother would lay, the woman hugging him gently to transfer her heat to him as she sang a gentle tune in her attempts to put him asleep, often with a crowd.
Of course Ark played along, closing his eyes and feigning sleep as the woman checked if he was sleeping before she'd stop her lullaby. However on some nights, when the melodic hymns that spoke of a hero would stop, when the crowd would disperse, when all that was left was silence in the shack, tears and silent sobs would replace the gentle tone of her voice.
It was muffled, soft hiccups that were felt through the thin fabric on her heaving chest and onto Ark's, her tears sometimes even staining his face as he tried desperately not to open his eyes.
In these times the Dragon was silent. Never saying a word or harassing Ark despite the pieces of himself breaking further inside. In fact, as time went on the dragon's voice seemed to grow distant, silent, leaving Ark alone to stew.
Winter would eventually leave, taking with it the accursed cold along with his mother as she was recalled back to the big house to attend to carnal needs.
***
Time continued its endless march, the housing and living conditions of the slaves deteriorating with each passing day. So much so that eventually Ark was the only baby in a room once filled with them.
He was laid on a bed of hay between a stall, sitting there as the wetnurse in charge of taking care of him was busy stimulating her breasts to prepare for his next breastfeeding session.
It's the same… Ark said to himself, lamenting over the fact that despite his actions, the sacrifices he made and promises spoken, that slavery in all its horrors still existed.
I can't just sit here.
With the woman's back turned, Ark rolled over, putting his underdeveloped arms to use to attempt to push himself up.
It didn't work. The muscles incapable of supporting his weight. But he didn't quit, no, he dug his feet into the hay, pushing with his legs until he hit the stall wall and began going up, putting his tiny arms up to grapple the wood.
He struggled, his legs kicking as his undeveloped head scraped against the brittle wood.
It hurt. A lot. But he could no longer be immobile. He needed to move, he needed to start walking, to begin his journey to the dream he called freedom.
For freedom. Ark winced, blood dripping into his baby blue eyes as he finally stood up.
"Free-"
"Hm?" The wet nurse turned to the unexpected voice, her eyes going wide as she gazed upon the baby standing on its own with its fists balled and its head bleeding.
"-dom.." Ark groaned, his little baby face contorted with anger as he attempted to take his first step, only to fall face first into the stone floor as the wetnurse's jaw dropped.
***
Under the angry gaze of a yellow sun, dozens of tanned skinned people in rags toiled in the fields filled with various plants lined in rows that seemed to span on forever.
"Did you hear?" A tanned woman with metal bindings on her wrists and neck whispered as she plucked a white flower that she placed in a basket filled with them.
"What? About the Lloyd baby?"
"You heard?"
"Who hasn't?" The woman shook her head. "Load of rubbish if you ask me. Walking and talking and not even a year old? Ha."
"No. I swear it happened, heard it from the Caretaker myself I did."
"Ha! That old crone? She-"
Suddenly the woman tensed up, eyes going wide before looking down to avoid the gaze of someone approaching behind her companion. "Best be quiet."
The other slave went silent, throwing herself into her work as the crunch of boots sounded nearby.
"Is there something funny?" A weathered middle aged man wearing a red leather vest with a hoarse voice demanded, brandishing a black metal rod.
"N-n-no sir." The woman who had laughed stuttered, burying herself in her work and working faster.
"Then why did you laugh? Were you laughing at me?" The man asked, narrowing his eyes as he placed the metal bar beneath the woman's chin.
"I… p-please sir-" The woman suddenly screamed, the metal shackles on her body heating up, releasing electricity that brought her to her knees.
"Did I say you could stop working?" The man spat, disgust on his face as he drove his foot into the woman's stomach. "Get up!"
"Y-y-yes sir!" The woman shouted, immediately scrambling to her feet only to be bashed on the head with the metal rod that controlled the shackles on her body.
"Did I tell you to speak?" The Overseer hissed, grabbing the woman by her neck who's eyes went wide with fear.
Despite the blood dripping down her face she shook her head vigorously, trying to appease the man who's red leather glove began to squeeze.
"Oui! Manfry! Don't break the damn merchandise, we need them to work!" A woman clad in a yellow dyed leather suit yelled, drawing a grunt from Manfry.
"Tsk. Consider yourself lucky slut. I'll be sure to pay you a visit later." The Overseer said, caressing the frightened woman's chin before walking off.
She glared at the man's back, clenching her teeth as she recalled the rumor of the boy.